Ethereal plantings

Like skyward pipes against the brick,

Like clouds of copper canopy,

Stories and stories above.

Engineered purity

Like praying imprisoned vanilla pods,

Like sylvan statues of subtlety,

To heal a world cemented and stern.

It makes me think of steam and synth,

Of the sticky sauce

That tars, mars my tofu.

Of the plumes, the fumes

Of burning worlds

That work so hard to build

To fill their emptiness.

And though I know

That these wounds

Are Creation,

I dream in this night that

Ambient souls

Will heal the whole

With their warmth

And intimation.

That lights too bright

Might be tamed,

Might be softened,

For the ethereal plantings

Of a world near forgotten.